Passion de la Musique
by xoxoMandieRosexoxo
Summary: Months after the events that occurred in the cellars of the Opera Populaire, Christine receives the news that she has been dreading. Erik is dying and she must go to him. She begs her husband, Raoul, to allow her to return to the Opera... and to Erik...


**WAVES** Hi guys!! Yes I know that I should be finishing my other two stories that are WIP however I am being a major literary nerd right now. As many of you phans know, last fall was the anniversary of the beginning of the serialization of Gaston Leroux's story,_ Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_ (aka _The Phantom of the Opera) _in a Paris magazine_._ Being a major Phantom Phangirl I celebrated that day. However, now is a new reason to celebrate (I don't need much of an excuse to phan over Erik)- Febraury 2010 marks the 100th anniversary of the classic story's official publication in book form. Therefore, as a gift to Erik and the rest of the PotO cast, I decided to post an excerpt from a story that I have been working on for some time. It's called _Christine: The Phantom's Angel_ and follows the life story of Christine- much like how Susan Kay's Phantom followed the story of Erik's life.

The story is based off of Leroux's novel. While I adore the ALW musical, that is not what I am basing my story off of- so please do not become confused with the blonde Christine or the mention of the Persian. It takes place after Erik has released Raoul and Christine and before Christine returns to the Opera to bury Erik after he has died. A friend of mine recently told me that she does not like the character of Christine. Why would she want to stay with a man she knows to be dangerous? Why would she protect? That is the question I try to answer here.

Please let me know what you think! As of now this is a one shot but if I get asked enough I might post more.

ENJOY!!

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**Passion de la Musique**

Le Fantôme de l'Opéra 100th Anniversary

"Raoul?"

The young Viscount glanced up from his paper to the door of the room. It was evening and the moon was shining in through the lace curtains of the window. The fire blazed, casting its golden glow over the blonde woman standing in the doorway. Her beautiful and child like face was wrought with woe, her eyes wide, silently pleading with her husband.

Raoul de Chagny took a deep breath, hoping to find the strength he knew he would need for the confrontation he was certain was about to ensue. The postman had come to the Chagny chateau that morning with a letter from Paris. It had been a message from the Persian, Daroga as he had grown to call the exotic man- a message for Christine. Raoul did not have to ask his new wife what the note contained- the grief overflowing from her usually bright blue eyes was enough for him to find the truth- Erik was dying.

In the months that the Viscount and soprano had been married, not once had they uttered a hateful word to one another- there was never a need to. They seemed to agree with one another on everything. Everything but one subject- Christine's maestro, her Angel of Music, Erik: The Phantom of the Opera. She had begged her husband to send her to Paris but he had refused to speak on the subject, ending what would have been a violent argument, before it could even begin.

Seeing his wife, Raoul rustled his newspaper and pretended to be entranced by a story about the upcoming country fair the town was hosting. He did not wish to fight with her.

"Raoul please hear me out, I am begging you!" Christine threw herself across the room and knelt before her husband, ripping the paper away from him. "You do not understand why I am asking you to send me to him."

"I do not believe you have ever uttered words that held more truth to them. I don't understand, Christine. I cannot fathom why you would want to return to the man that tried to control you, followed your every action, and held you captive. You are fortunate that he never killed you. It is a miracle that he ever let you go- why tempt fate again?"

Christine could see the doubt in her husband's eyes as they appeared to glow in the fire light. She could not help but think of her maestro and his glowing eyes. Shaking the memory from her mind's eye, she pressed:

"Raoul, please. Listen to what I have to say, that is all that I am asking." When Raoul made no objection to her plea, she took a calming breath, trying to sort out her thoughts before she opened her mouth and began, "When I was fifteen years old, my father left me alone in this world. I suppose it is unfair to blame him for my broken heart upon his passing, but with him, my will to live died. After the funeral, I left Mamma Velarius' home and traveled to Paris. I roamed the streets for days until I came upon what it was that my heart was longing for- the Opera Populaire. My mind returned to the countless visits to the Opera House with my father. Perhaps if I surrounded myself with the music that my father had loved so much, I would find peace- a meaning to my, now, empty life. I took the little money my father had left me and enrolled in music lessons.

"After four years, I was able to audition and was offered a place in the company. I moved into the Opera and immediately began rehearsing for my debut at the Opera's yearly gala. I went through the routine of practicing, preserving my voice, and performing at the gala- something every member of the company must do. I received poor reviews from that night in the morning's newspaper. The Opera critic thought my voice to be too weak and lacked the spirit and passion needed in any prima donna. I could not disagree with the man.

"The day after the article was published, the Opera critic was found dead in his apartment- murdered. At the time I pitied the poor man… foolish of me, I suppose. In a way it was my own fault that the critic's life was cut short.

"That night was when He first made contact with me.

"I returned to my room that evening after a long day filled with rehearsals and costume fittings to find a red rose lying upon my vanity. With it was a letter written on the finest parchment I have ever seen. A letter addressed to me. I do not remember exactly what it said. It read something to the effect of the critic's lack of knowledge in music and how blind people could be when searching for talent. I couldn't help but think back to the critic's murder. Eventually, I would tie the two together- he had killed the critic trying to defend my honor- but at the moment I was too naïve to do so. It continued to say that deep within me was a voice belonging to that of an angel- I simply needed to find the passion necessary to sing. At the closing of the letter I was offered singing lessons. As you know, I accepted… and quite blindly if I might add.

"For several months, I met for my music lessons in my room with the mysterious voice that called himself the Angel of Music. The night that he declared my voice to be ready to take on all of Paris was the night that I finally found the courage to thank him.

"_You have the passion now, my dear, _his beautiful, elegant voice declared. _It was always in you, hidden deep within your soul._

"_Yes._ I was pleased with the praise my maestro was giving me. He was always gentle with me but very firm. His kind words took me by surprise and I suppose they gave me the courage to confide in him. _I would like to thank you Maestro._

"_Thank me?_

"_Yes, Monsieur. If it were not for you, I do not know if I would ever have found myself again._

"_What do you mean, child?_

"I continued to tell him of my father and of how he had been a great violinist. I told him of how our days were filled with nothing but music. We had each other and the music and that was all that mattered to us. In my fifteenth year, my father died. And with him, so did my spirit.

"_If it were not for you, Maestro, I do not think I ever would have found the music again. You have restored my passion to live once again._

"You see Raoul, as a child, I would sing for my father. No one else. I sang to please him and to see him smile. Once he left me, I no longer had a reason to sing. There was no one else that I wanted to please with my voice… no one until he came.

"Once the Angel took an unyielding interest in my voice, I suddenly felt something that I had not felt in almost five years- the desire to bring someone joy with my gift that God himself had granted me. I wanted nothing more that to please the Angel with my voice, the same way I had pleased my father. To bring him happiness and satisfaction. To make him smile. That desire consumed me.

"Even after I saw what my angel truly was- nothing more than a man- I still felt the need to sing. My poor Erik. So ugly… no one could ever love him. I felt that after all that he had done for me- given me my life back, returned my passion for music and life- I could, in the very least, give him my voice. But I soon came to learn that he was indeed a man- a man who loved me for more than just my voice.

"I knew that I loved him." Upon seeing her husband's forlorn face, she declared, "There are many forms that love can take on, Raoul. I loved him as I had loved my father. I suppose he had taken the place in my heart that had belonged to my father. As I grew to realize that he truly loved me, I began to question my thoughts and feelings for him. I did love him… I still do. Raoul, he saved me when no one else could. He gave me so much and yet all I could give him in return was my voice."

Her final statement hung heavy in the air between the married couple. Christine paused for only a moment to compose herself before she continued on carefully.

"The letter said that he is dying Raoul. His health has suddenly faltered and he is on death's door step. He will be dead by the end of the week." She blinked back the crystal tears that were threatening to flow down her flushed cheeks. She did not want her husband to see her shed tears for the man that he so despised. After a moment of unsteady silence, Christine found her voice. "If I were still the girl that you met on the beach all those years ago, I would simply tell you that I was going to him. However, after everything that I have made you withstand in regards to him, I have no right to do so. That is why I am asking you- let me go to him. Let me be with him for the remainder of his life which should only be for several days. You know my heart and how I care for him. After all that he has done for me, he deserves this from me. Please, Raoul, I am begging you!"

Raoul sat in his armchair gazing into his young wife's pleading eyes. Tearing himself away from her penetrating gaze his eyes bore into the dancing flames of the fire place. The childhood friends remained silent- the Viscount in the armchair, the young soprano kneeling on the floor before him.

"You must know," his eyes returned to Christine. He tried to cover the pain he felt in his heart with the love he felt for his wife. "I could never deny you something that you longed for." The young man reached out and held tightly onto the girl's petite, pale hands. He did not wish for her to return to the Opera Populaire. He wanted to keep her by his side, safe and far from the catacombs of the Opera Ghost. And yet, he could deny her nothing. "Go to him," his voice cracked as he whispered, "Go to him. I do not want you to return until you have kept your promise to him and he is safely buried."

The relief that filled her eyes seemed to cut through Raoul like a sword. Had she come to him expecting nothing but heart breaking denial?

"Oh thank you Raoul." She brought his hands up to her soft lips and placed a gentle kiss upon them, her eyes overflowing with joy. "I shall go to him at once!"


End file.
